Thursdays and I have a history
by audi katia
Summary: The first time Kurt kisses Blaine, it's a Thursday.
1. i

_Hello all! I come baring my latest baby. Originally meant as a one-shot, this story has grown over fifty pages on MicrosoftWord and it is still not complete. I had intended to write this before the new episodes aired because once they do, this story will become extremely AU. However, time constraints and the fact that this has grown exponentially beyond what I expected, I am now posting it in segments. The first twelve or so have been written and I will post them as soon as I receive them back from my beta._

_Though this story may not seem like it at first, it is eventual Klaine. I just am taking cathartic pleasure in writing about Kurt's expansion as a human being both with and without Kurt. So yes, this is Klaine. It's just very Kurt!centric. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I am. :)_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, Gershwin, Frank Sinatra, or anything else you may recognize._

_And a big thank you to my beta, lextempus!_

* * *

The first time Kurt kisses Blaine, it's a Thursday.

Blaine is in front of him, beside him, pressed up against him and he's so palpably _real_. Kurt rests his hands against the older boy's cheeks and feels for the first time the soft flesh that moves carefully beneath his trembling touch. Blaine tastes like water and warmth and boy, and it's the single most beautiful moment in Kurt's life until it slip-slides away, the cheeks taunt under his thin hands.

In time, Kurt will learn that kisses are supposed to be two-way. He'll learn that lips are supposed to move in tandem with his, that hands are supposed to caress equally, that kisses are give and take. But for the moment, he doesn't understand the loss of heat against his chest or the pressure on his arm as Blaine pushes him away gently.

Blaine whispers something so polite that it's not until the room is empty that Kurt realizes he's once again alone.

* * *

_Although I can't dismiss the memory of his kiss, I guess he's not for me._

For the first time, Kurt thinks Gershwin might have failed him.

He sings out in the Warbler's rehearsal, each word honest and raw, and the moment drifts off as the final notes end in his throat. His fellow classmates stare at him in disbelief, but not any expression comparable to excitement or jealousy.

Discomfort fills the room, ricocheting off the walls and rebounding back to Kurt who burns ripe red under their confused stares.

It was just an apology song, he wants to tell Blaine. It's nothing different from when Rachel dedicated her songs to Finn or how Puck still stares at Quinn when he sings or how Tina jumps during her dances because she knows Mike will always catch her. Kurt's stomach twists and he just simply wants to be somewhere where he can express himself with song because he needs that. He irrevocably, desperately, intrinsically _needs_ that.

Kurt doesn't have to look up at Wes's apologetic face to know that this is the last time he will ever sing solo at Dalton again. He can feel that fact vibrating under the stiffness of his uniform, deep in his bones as he walks to the stereo, ending the static that fills the air once the music cuts.

It's just as well, he concludes as the heavy sound of shined shoes against hardwood floors fills the reverberating silence left in the wake of his song. Boys file out of the room one-by-one, a perfect order of politeness, and Kurt is left, not for the first time, with the feeling that maybe Dalton isn't the right place for him.

Soon Blaine is the only one left in the room, his skin a contrast against the navy of his jacket as he stares at Kurt. Kurt watches with bated breath, though by now he's starting to give up on any notion of hope. Blaine opens and closes his mouth, the firm line of his jaw tight and boxed, and it's such a shame because Kurt always assumed Blaine inherently knew the right words and the correct answer to everything.

Kurt's never been good at reading people, and he knows he will never discern the look in Blaine's eyes.

(&)

Want is funny, Kurt thinks.

Kurt wants to kiss Blaine, wants to trace the pads of his fingertips along Blaine's perfect hairline and trail his tongue across the lines of Blaine's palms. He wants to pull Blaine's tie and bring the older boy a breadth of an inch away from his wanting mouth, to feel searing open-mouth kisses on his neck and close-lipped tender pecks on the inside of his wrist.

But more than that, Kurt wants to share his coffee with Blaine, something he's never wanted to do with anyone else before. He wants to count the errant curls that escape their gel hold, to connect the freckles neatly on Blaine's forearms. He wants to hold hands under the dinner table as he meets Blaine's family, a constant squeeze of reassurance as their knees knock awkwardly under the table. He wants to sing Blaine silly songs and write him foolish poems and wants Blaine to smile at him like he's the only boy in the world.

And Blaine? Blaine just wants to be friends.

* * *

Frank Sinatra certainly had it right, he muses to himself as he gazes out the window of the plaza onto the nighttime streets of New York.

Colors and lights flash both inside and outside the building as the Warblers sing and dance their celebratory success at having won Regionals. Kurt remains at the window, staring at the sparking apple juice in his tumbler glass and appreciating the refraction of light that casts amber spotlights on the polished floor beneath his feet.

A pair of leather shoes separates the light from the floor and Kurt brings his eyes slowly up the lean line of Blaine's legs and torso before beryl eyes settle on hazel. Kurt watches the dark lashes brush against the apples of his cheeks as Blaine blinks away the hanging questions that linger between them.

"You were excellent tonight."

I'm always excellent, Kurt thinks to himself, careful not to voice the words. So Kurt nods and returns the sentiment, his polite smile fading faster until he covers his lips with the tumbler in his hand.

(&)

According to Mercedes, Puck pulls a devastated Rachel off the ledge of the hotel they are staying at, Artie tries to convince a crying Brittany that she's still magic, and quite honestly, no one is happy about the outcome of the competition.

Kurt smiles bitterly at the irony of the statement.

When Mercedes texts back her congratulations to him, it feels like an afterthought. Which is a fairly accurate description, Kurt reflects in a self-deprecating way that is quickly becoming his default.

He responds with a thank you, but as he eyes the empty space beside him where Blaine isn't sitting and his empty knee where Blaine's hand isn't resting, he doesn't really think he's won anything at all.

* * *

Dignified cries of enthusiasm and congratulatory remarks ring out in the Warbler rehearsal room as the boys welcome their newest member, a thick boy named James who wants to ride on the coattails of the Warbler's New York success.

Seasoned Warblers comment as a monologue the traditions of their glee club, their words rehearsed and nearly word for word what Kurt recalls from his own initiation just a few weeks back. Until finally, all eyes fall to Kurt, a silent cue to move forward.

"Welcome to the group," he intones mechanically as he offers forth Pavarotti.

The cage is taken from his hands, and the sudden loss of iron in his grip makes him finally realize that there is nothing keeping him here.

He looks around the room and observes the boys in their sedated humor, their closed-off expressions. He notes how Wes smoothly returns to his chair, sitting like it's a throne, and David shuffles the new sheet music, some Top 40 song Kurt has probably heard to death on the radio. He eyes the dance corner cluttered with backpacks, a better use for the space as there is no dancing in Acapella. He sees the uniforms, the trained smiles, the leather-bound lining the walls, reminding him of the legacy and rules and the stifling nature of all it.

No, there's nothing to hold him down at all.

(&)

With all his metaphors for Pavarotti's existence in Kurt's life, it's no great wonder that Blaine notices Kurt's reaction to passing along the tradition.

He stands too closely, his voice light in Kurt's ear and his body heat radiating through the layers of starched fabric. Hazel imprints onto pale skin as he stares at Kurt, wondering if he's okay.

What is okay, anyway? Kurt doesn't know. He's tired of trying to define it and even more exhausted when it comes to obtaining it.

(&)

A cough in the doorway tells him Blaine can see the bareness of the walls, the way the suitcases on the stripped bed are full to bursting with Kurt's life packed away.

Kurt barely turns, just enough to spot the twist of Blaine's hands.

"I'm going back."

Those words hold weight that Kurt doesn't understand, but somehow it's easier to say than it is to feel.

He waits for Blaine to explain everything Kurt's doing wrong, but Blaine surprises him. It's dawning on him that Blaine will always be surprising him.

Blaine doesn't remind him of the bullying or ask how Kurt expects to handle it. He doesn't question the brash decision or why he's using such a harsh tone of voice. He doesn't bring to attention the loneliness etched in Kurt's features or the sharp motions of his belongings thrown into bags. Blaine doesn't accuse Kurt of being a diva who just wants solos and that's why he's leaving.

Kurt thinks maybe he expected that response because those were all thoughts that have been running nonstop through Kurt's mind since he called his father the day before.

The waning sunlight streams valiantly through the thick curtains, the light falling onto Kurt's shaking hands as he folds the last of his towels. He's painfully aware of Blaine's eyes on his form, watching the angled curve of his slim fingers as he handles the soft fabric.

"I had such high hopes," he whispers more to the towel than to the boy carefully edging closer to him, his measured steps silent against the carpet.

With eyes averted from the scene, he feels rather than sees Blaine gently tug the towel from his hands. No sooner than he faces the older teen with a questioning look does he find himself entangled in a hug, more intimate than he can remember.

He knows he should push Blaine away, but it's latent approval in its barest form and Kurt's slowly becoming a master at accepting the least amount offered to him.

He can feel the thud of Blaine's heart against his chest, his own heart keeping perfect time. Blaine's hands press against the small of his back and the small arch between his shoulder blades, and Kurt finds himself leaning into the gelled hair, the waxy scent filling his nose. His hands rest tightly around Blaine's middle and the two boys hold each other in the stillness of the room, the air filled with their shared, silent apologies.

"I just want you to be safe," Blaine whispers into the thin skin of Kurt's neck, sparking a shiver and elating his senses.

And in the hug, the embodiment of Blaine's _courage_, Kurt understands.

He's not running away from new problems. He's just learning to face the old ones.

(&)

When Kurt returns to McKinley on Thursday, he stands tall and cracked, no longer feigning strength.

* * *

_Please review._


	2. ii

_Hello again! First of all, I want to say thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, alerted, and enjoyed! I'm so thrilled with the response I've gotten so far and I hope you all continue to like this story. This section is shorter than the last, but hopefully that's not too much of a problem. I will post the third section as soon as I get it back from my lovely, lovely beta. :D  
_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, Temper Trap, or anything else you may recognize._

_And a big thank you to my beta, **lextempus**!_

* * *

Three rehearsals in, the novelty of Kurt's return has faded to the background of Glee Club.

Rachel waves music sheets around, brandishing them like a new lawful decree, her voice grating against Mr. Schue's complacent attempts to rein her in. Kurt watches Finn grapple with the seemingly tough decision to back Rachel up while keeping his distance from the passionate girl.

Beside him, Mercedes braids Tina's fuchsia-streaked hair, the Asian girl wincing occasionally through her conversation with Mike as Mercedes accidentally yanks too hard. Brittany and Santana talk over each other, their voices light and soft as they only are when together. Kurt can smell the delicate perfume Quinn always wears and the heady scent of the locker rooms lingering on Puck's gym bag where he always tosses it under the piano, just to aggravate Rachel who yells about the musical vibrations.

The room still feels the same, loud and large and never enough for the sheer amount of people and the vocal quality bouncing off the walls. More colors than Kurt can count in a single glance fill his vision as he watches everyone talk and move around each other, each person easily identifiable by the stark red of their skirts, the stripes on their shirts, the pitch-perfect shrieks, the shining gold of their hair, the uninhibited laughter.

And just when Kurt thinks nothing has changed, Karofsky appears in the window and the Glee Club, his _friends_, crowd around the glass pane. Santana is particularly menacing with her shark teeth baring through her vicious leer, Finn cracks his knuckles with an uncharacteristically ugly look on face, and even sweet Tina has a hardness to her eyes that surprises Kurt. They all pitch in, each with a menacing glare or vicious words of scorn.

Karofsky leaves without a second glance, his eyes no longer threatening Kurt and freezing the small boy to his seat, paralyzing him with fear.

They all stand their ground, their heads moving minutely as they watch Karofsky descend down the hallway. Then they turn around as one, each staring at Kurt, waiting for his reaction. Kurt smiles like it's the first time he's ever really known how to use those muscles.

Then they go back to yelling and singing and laughing and arguing, flitting about and spinning around, joking and pushing and loving and teasing. Like nothing's happened at all.

But the world has changed in a heartbeat and Kurt has never felt so protected.

* * *

The computer screen illuminates the basement, blue light finding its way against the edges and planes of Kurt's bedroom. His hands pause above his keyboard as the clock chimes midnight on the floor above him, marking the new day as Thursday.

The brisk click of the keyboard mingles with the clock's cry as Kurt types out a hastened message. He doesn't scan it, doesn't read it over, only hits "send" before his nerves get the best of him.

_Good luck at nationals._

_-Kurt_

(&)

_Thank you. Wish you could help us to victory._

_-Blaine_

Ever the gentleman, Kurt thinks with a half-smile.

(&)

"I now present to you, The Warblers from Dalton Academy from Westerville, Ohio!"

The curtains open to reveal rows of boys with the yellow stage lights softening their straightened lines. Kurt's eyes immediately seek out Blaine, trim and sweet and handsome and so far away.

_Sweet disposition, never too soon. Oh, reckless abandon like no one's watching you._

Sitting in the audience, it's easy to pretend that he's never met Blaine. That he never kissed those crooning, singing lips. That he was never held in those swaying arms.

_And while our blood's still young, it's so young. It runs and we won't stop until it's over… Won't stop to surrender…_

And while he's pretending, he doesn't imagine what Blaine's thinking as he sings or if there are any lyrics Blaine would direct just to him if they were both on stage. He doesn't wonder where he would have stood in the line-up or if Blaine would have hugged him before the performance for good luck.

_A moment, a love, a dream aloud, a kiss, a cry, our rights, our wrongs…_

Two hours later, the Warblers lose, and Kurt doesn't allow himself a single second to feel his stomach plummet or his heart twist. He pretends not to see Blaine's expression shatter and then reform with a forced congratulatory smile that he's sure only he can read through. He doesn't wonder at all what it would be like to wait outside and surprise Blaine or hurry and buy consolatory flowers for the Warblers.

And the biggest pretend is when Kurt tells himself he doesn't want to see Blaine at all.

Kurt leaves without ever saying hello.

(&)

The three and a half hour drive back to Lima from Chicago ends up taking four hours.

The sky looks as though it's covered in newspaper, everything a faded gray and white. Rain-darkened clouds hide the sun with no shadows on the ground. The roads are smooth beneath his tires, the steering wheel tight within his grip. Kurt stares ahead with his reactions careful and measured and his mouth formed into a straight line.

He pulls over just once, sobbing into his open palms pressed into his face before gasping for air once more.

Twenty minutes later, he drives off and pretends he never stopped at all.

* * *

_Please review._


	3. iii

_Hello! Again, thank you to everyone who is reading and enjoying this story and an even bigger thank you to my lovely reviewers. You are all so wonderful!_

_Now that the new episodes have started airing again (yay!), this story is officially AU as I am not incorporating any events from episodes from the rest of this season. Also, I know it has been established in Silly Love Songs that Blaine is a junior, but for the sake of what I have already written, he is a senior in this story. Blaine is a senior and Kurt and the rest of ND are juniors. Hopefully that won't be too much of a problem for canon-sticklers. :)_

_And yes, I know this chapter is short, but short chapters mean quicker updates, right? Right. :)_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or anything else you may recognize._

_And a big thank you to my beta, **lextempus**!_

_(Sidenote: I'm actually really excited that I get to post this on a Thursday. lol Okay, lame!author moment over. Enjoy!)_

* * *

The steel is warm and unrelenting beneath against his bruise ribcage. His shoulder rotates awkwardly as more pressure holds him against the dumpster.

Kurt casts his eyes warily around, but can find no one beyond Karofsky's desperate eyes.

"If you kill me," Kurt bites back with as much force through his tightened trachea, "they'll find out. They'll convict you. You'll go to court and they'll figure out why you did it. Everyone will know your secret."

The hardened brown of Karofsky's eyes flickers in contemplation, and Kurt can see the muscles of his clenched jaw contracting furiously.

"They'll _know_," Kurt repeats, keeping his voice low and harsh and refusing to let the tears spark in his eyes.

In Karofsky's world, death is comparable to honesty. He releases Kurt.

(&)

Karofsky doesn't touch him and avoids him at all costs, his eyes only lingering when Kurt walks by without any acknowledgement.

Kurt can hear the jeers at his back and feels the cold slush run down his neck. But under the watchful gaze of his friends, he soon forgets how the pushes used to bruise him. He no longer can smell the sharp mixture of metal and paint from when he made harsh contact in the lockers.

His bruises fade, his cuts heal, and his aches disappear. Nothing's broken.

* * *

**_Blaine Anderson_**_ got accepted to University of the Arts in Philadelphia!_

Kurt wastes part of his life flipping through the following comments of congratulatory remarks and phrases of "I'll miss you!"

_You're going to do great things_, he types below Blaine's status because he knows it's the undeniable truth. Kurt doesn't wait for Blaine to respond before he deletes him as a friend.

He won't let himself stretch out these feelings any longer. He won't follow Blaine to college.

* * *

Summer passes without incident, just an endless stretch of days and sunlight.

Kurt spends his days with the girls at the pool, feeling his nose freckle under the permanent sunshine. At night, the boys join them at someone's house, singing and humming and dancing until one by one they all return home only to repeat the next day.

The heat of the summer slows them all down, draws out their breath. They lazily pair together and even Rachel and Finn meet in the middle as he hums her favorite showtune.

Kurt watches, a bittersweet mixture of happiness and loneliness.

One day, he thinks, I'll have that.

(&)

The sun still shines and the heat prevails, but the days are counting down before their senior year.

Before long, it's August 25th. Orientation day for University of the Arts.

And finally the distance between them is literal.

* * *

_Please review._


	4. iv

_Hi everyone! I just want to say, those of you keeping up with this story, you're beautiful. And I love you. And thank you._

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, Street Scene, Frank Loesser, or anything else you may recognize._

_And a big thank you to my beta, **lextempus**!_

* * *

"Introductory meeting on Wednesday! Bring your friends!" Artie cries out helpfully as he passes a flier promoting New Directions to a shy freshman.

"I don't have any," the lanky boy says almost too quietly to be heard. He blinks shyly and then smiles repentantly as though he thought being alone was something to apologize for.

A hint of a smile comes to surface on Kurt's best bitch face as he thinks of a time when that statement would have been unbearably true for him.

"Then you'll make some."

(&)

This time when they win Sectionals, Blaine isn't there to hug him.

It's still a victory, but it doesn't taste as sweet.

* * *

He presses his fingers into the piano keys, his skin peach and pink against the solid ivory and black. His voice echoes in the auditorium, loud and lonely as he practices for Mr. Schue's weekly project.

_What good would the moon be unless the right one shared its beams? What good would dreams come true be if love wasn't in those dreams?_

This whole "moving on" bit is harder than he anticipated.

* * *

Everyone takes turns warming up in the small practice room, waiting for their turn to perform at Regionals, while Kurt stands backstage.

"He's not out there."

Kurt looks to his side and finds Mercedes smiling sadly.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

His hand drops from where he had been holding the crimson curtain back and turns his head away from where it had been facing the audience, scanning the crowds for a curly-haired someone.

(&)

Kurt finds himself swept up in a bone-crushing hug as Puck grabs him and screams excited profanities into his ear. He looks past Rachel who is practically sobbing with joy into Finn's shoulder beside him and sees the Warblers looking dignified even in their defeat.

No one, it seems, is better off without Blaine.

* * *

_I wish I knew how…_

_Your eyes are like starlight now._

_…to break this spell._

Kurt wipes away his tears before changing the radio station abruptly.

* * *

"We're going to win, we're going to win, we're going to win," Rachel mutters over and over, a frantic mantra as she paces back and forth backstage.

Finn catches Kurt's glance and rolls his eyes affectionately before silencing Rachel with a kiss. His hands holding hers to his chest, he whispers, "We're going to have _fun_."

And even though it was meant for Rachel, Kurt carries that message with him onstage.

(&)

The lights shine too bright to see anyone past the front row and the music pulsates around them on the stage as their voices swell together in perfect accord. Mercedes' voice surrounds him on stage as he takes his cue to move center and dance.

As he belts out his one and only solo he's ever been given to perform, his hips shake so fiercely that it's just this side of gyrating.

In the glow of the moment, Kurt knows this is the best he's ever performed.

(&)

As it turns out, both Rachel and Finn were right.

"You guys really deserve this," Mr. Schue congratulates, tears brimming in his proud eyes as he holds up the trophy.

It's been about more than a trophy for a while now, Kurt thinks.

* * *

_Please review._


	5. v

_Hi everyone! I apologize for how long it's been since I last updated. Both my beta and I have been incredibly busy (congrats on getting through another semester, Alice!) and unfortunately, real life/school life comes before fanfiction. For those of you sticking with me on this story, thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy it._

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or anything else you may recognize._

_And a big thank you to my beta, **lextempus**!_

* * *

"If your mom was here…" Burt says, his voice thick with emotion.

Kurt can barely hear his father as he stares at the letter in his hand, the envelope fallen on the floor in shock.

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into New York University's theatre program._

"…she'd be just as proud of you as I am."

"Thanks, Dad."

He did it. He's getting out of this town.

(&)

"Bitch, bring it," he says the next day when Rachel shows him a matching letter.

He then smiles at her faltering expression to make sure she knows he's joking. Mostly.

Kurt knows he doesn't shine half as well as he does when he's got something to prove.

(&)

The hideous polyester chafes against his skin, and he can feel himself sweat under the heat of the sun, which will undoubtedly loosen the hold of his hairspray. But for the first time, he doesn't care.

His name is called and a flash of light bursts before him as the photographer captures an image of his beaming face before he continues walking forward towards the podium. For reasons he still does not fully understand, Sue Sylvester is the one to hand him his diploma with a smirk and a simple "Kudos to you, Porcelain."

Kurt stares at his diploma as he walks back to the throng of cheering students. One by one, his class is called forth until they have all passed with a handshake and a certification that another chapter of their lives has been completed.

Collectively, they shout in exuberance and throw their caps into the air. Kurt catches his with a yelp of excitement, staring at the cap in his right hand and his diploma in his left.

He made it. He made it through four years of being thrown into dumpsters and pushed into lockers. He made it through multiple heartbreaks and countless nights of missing his mom so much it ached. He had performed songs he never thought he'd ever get to sing outside of his shower. He had organized a wedding and won Nationals. He had been honest with his father and had found himself with more love and acceptance than he had ever expected. He had made friends, had gotten a brother, had found himself with a family.

Kurt had taken _courage_ and run with it, coming out infinitely stronger and more determined at the end. Despite the hurt that had come along and been thrust upon him for years on end, he had proven that he would not be silenced or be forced back in a closet.

He pauses from his thoughts as a grinning Finn grabs him by the elbow and pulls him towards their parents.

He's happy, he realizes as he hugs a sobbing Carol and his determinedly not-crying father. He's really, truly, undeniably excited and ecstatic and just genuinely _happy_ with how everything has worked out.

* * *

The first half of summer is spent in various backyards as graduation party favors and decorations provide the backgrounds to all their photographs.

Like the summer before with laughter and music, Kurt finds himself surrounded with his friends.

Suddenly, not having a boyfriend doesn't really seem that important anymore.

(&)

"I'm going to miss you."

"Why? You're going to visit all the time."

They both know that's not entirely true. Kurt will be in New York nine months out of the year in one of the most challenging theatre programs and Mercedes will be miles and miles away studying voice in Pittsburgh. But for the moment, that white lie is enough.

* * *

_Please review._


	6. vi

_Hello! As always, thank you to everyone sticking with this story. :) As for everyone who reviews, I am so grateful. I apologize that sometimes it takes me a little while to respond to the reviews, but I always endeavor to respond before the next chapter is posted. Also, a special thank you for those of you who review anonymously!_

_Really, just thank you for everyone who reads and enjoys. :)_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, Guys and Dolls, Funny Girl, or anything else you may recognize._

_And a big thank you to my beta, **lextempus**!_

* * *

A few hours into move-in day, Rachel appears at his dorm room door with her hands on her hips and her show face so firmly in place that Kurt thinks her expression might have finally frozen that way. Kurt looks up from where he's organizing his new desk and raises a single eyebrow until she informs him that auditions for the first musical of the semester are in two days.

"Don't expect me to go easy on you just because you're my only friend here," Rachel informs him with forced nonchalance, but Kurt knows better. He can see the pre-planned victory in her eyes.

"Your first friend," he corrects her pointedly. "And trust me, sweetheart. I don't need any charity."

Finn coughs from the other side of the small room where he's helping Burt stack Kurt's empty Armani suitcases.

"Uh, guys? I'm pretty sure you two won't be auditioning for the same roles."

Simultaneously, Kurt and Rachel break their competitive stares to roll their eyes.

"You're so missing the point, Finn," Kurt explains in exasperation.

**(&)**

Despite the fact that they have a nine hour drive ahead of them, it's dark before Kurt and Rachel's families finally leave.

The good-byes are sloppy with kisses and wet with tears as the parents hug their children tightly, whispering _good luck_ and _call us at any time_. There's one strange moment when Finn seems to forget that he's saying good bye to Kurt instead of his girlfriend because Kurt ends up with an earful of Finn's lips in what's possibly the most awkward kiss of either of their lives.

The uneasy laughter soon turns genuine and settles around them warm and thick before Kurt feels a familiar tug on the cuffs of his sleeves. He spins on the spot and finds himself looking into a pair of matching irises, the skin around them crinkled with age and a smile.

"Thanks for everything, Dad," Kurt whispers as he clutches his father for the final time that night.

"I love you, Kurt."

* * *

Two days later, Kurt auditions for _Guys and Dolls_ with a fervor that he's sure will separate him from the other hopefuls waiting anxiously outside the stage door.

Three days later, Kurt's name isn't on the callback list, and he has to pretend to be happy for Rachel when they find her name listed.

Four days later, Rachel knocks on his door in bitter tears to tell him she didn't get cast.

Five days later, they promise each other that this isn't foreshadowing or a bad omen or even a crucial set-back. It's just a new experience and it's one that they will learn and grow from.

But in the back of his mind, Kurt can't shake the memory of a voice he hasn't heard in over a year tell him that maybe he's still trying too hard.

**(&)**

For the first few weeks of classes, Kurt wears designer clothes like armor with arched eyebrows daring anyone to make fun of him.

In return, he finds himself facing nothing.

Not to say that he does not come across immediate opposition, but it is limited to competition within the theatre and the difficult tasks of his newly complicated workload. None of it is aimed towards him in a personal matter. His scarves are ignored, his angled hip is looked over, his girlish voice is answered in casual tones. Kurt doesn't hear ugly words fall from others' lips or feel harsh hands on his body.

Little by little, Kurt finds himself lowering his defenses and settling down into a more comfortable area. His remarks fall from sardonic to sarcastic, he stops waiting for the insults to rain down on him, he laughs with more ease as he realizes no one is out to get him.

Eventually, it gets easier.

**(&)**

It's probably a good thing that Kurt got a single since Rachel spends most of her time in his tiny dorm, and Kurt knows from his failed attempts with Finn and his brief stint at Dalton that he's not the best with forced upon roommates, to put it lightly.

However, Rachel seems to have much more trouble relating to her roommate.

"If I had a chance to make my special I'm sorry cookies, then Shauna wouldn't be so frustrated with me all of the time. But apparently you can't just go to the school cafeteria and make cookies. I should know, I got kicked out of the kitchen."

Kurt just huffs and turns up the volume of _Funny Girl_ until finally Rachel shuts up.

* * *

_Please review._


	7. vii

_Hi! Thank you all for reading! I hope you all enjoy what I have in store for Kurt this chapter. :) I know this chapter is short, but I was able to get it out sooner than some of the last few chapters. Also, I sent the next few chapters to my beta a few days ago, so hopefully I'll be ready to post chapter eight fairly soon. :)_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, Silver Bells, or anything else you may recognize._

_And a big thank you to my beta, **lextempus**!_

* * *

The party lights are dim, save for the Christmas lights that seemed to remain along the top edges of the wall permanently in a manner that Kurt finds endearingly collegiate.

"Do you want to dance?"

Kurt hears these words each Friday night and sometimes finds the nerve inside him to voice them first. He joins hand-in-hand with various boys he recognizes from his theatre classes or when he picks up packages from the mailroom or even just from seeing them around campus.

They dance in a frenzy to whatever music plays at the parties as warm bodies move around them, limbs loose with alcohol.

With each dance, Kurt lets the memory of a smiling boy with hazel eyes fade more and more.

(&)

During one of their Skype nights, Mercedes wonders if there are any new boys in his life. Kurt placates her with a few offhand stories of the parties he's gone to and the boys he's danced with. He tells her how they're good for a few dances, but he doesn't see them much outside of the party scene. He stays friends with some of them because, really, the dances aren't about romance. It's all just about fun.

"It's nice," he tells her, "to just be able to dance and not have to worry about what people are going to say the next morning."

* * *

Something about traveling silences Rachel and within ten minutes on the cluttered train headed home for the holidays, she's slumped over in sleep. Kurt can hear the faint traces of Barbara Streisand playing from Rachel's iPod coupled with the subdued chatter around him from the other passengers.

A sudden weight on his shoulder lets him know that Rachel has begun to use him as her personal pillow.

Self-centered as ever, he thinks with surprising fondness.

(&)

Finn sings _Silver Bells_ off-key as Kurt watches his father kiss Carole under the mistletoe he had tacked up above the kitchen doorway.

Breaking from his song to groan jokingly, Finn covers Kurt's eyes away from their parents who break away to laugh at their children's antics. Kurt pulls away from Finn's hand, the bowl of cookie mix firm in his grip as he dances away from his step-brother.

The family joins him in a peal of laughter and it's exactly the sort of Christmas Kurt didn't realize he'd been missing.

* * *

_Please review._


	8. viii

_Hello my lovely, wonderful, beautiful readers! I've been getting some amazing comments lately on both ffdotnet and livejournal and I just want to say "wow." And also, "thank you." You guys are amazing and you all have such wonderful insight to this story and Kurt. I love getting to hear what you all have to say about it and I really appreciate everyone taking the time to comment. And for everyone else reading, thank you all as well. It's fun to spread the Klaine joy. :D_

_This is a pretty big chapter in terms of changes in Kurt's life. I'm taking this in a slightly different direction than other stories I've read, so hopefully you'll all still enjoy my little divergance from the usual. :)_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or anything else you may recognize._

_And a big thank you to my beta, **lextempus**!_

* * *

He can feel the professor's eyes on him, sizing him up, and Kurt meets the gaze head on. After all, he had spent most of high school viewing Sue Sylvester as a simultaneous tyrant and savior. This professor in her tacky tweed and sloppy bun is comical in comparison.

With an adjustment of her black-rim glasses over her sharp nose, she speaks out authoritatively into her audience of students.

"I just spent the last few minutes making contact with each of you. Half of you stared back and half of you looked away which means half of you just passed your first test."

Kurt shifts in his seat with interest as a murmur of sputtered indignations fill the air.

"Which half?" one girl from the back of the classroom asks audaciously.

"Read chapter seven in the text about body language for next class. That should clue you in."

Professor Kantra then dismisses class and refuses to answer any more questions, and Kurt's pretty sure that this mandatory psychology class is going to be a lot more interesting than he initially thought.

Certainly more exciting than his mandatory math class, that's for sure.

(&)

Kurt reads his psychology text with a note of enthusiasm when he learns that he was in the passing half.

* * *

Of course Kurt notices him.

Before they even meet, Kurt learns the shape of his barely crooked nose and the rhythm of his limbering gait. He wants to touch the random patch of hair near his bangs dyed vibrant red and blonde to feel the texture and calculate how dry it must be from the obvious straightening. He eyes the long length of lean leg in those tattered jeans appreciatively and feels a flip in his stomach when he overhears laughter spill from the boy's oval mouth.

Then suddenly, Kurt sees before his face the crooked nose and watches the small mouth form words of greeting as he sits beside Kurt at the otherwise empty table in the middle of the cafeteria. Kurt finds he can only blink in response, his fingers restless against the cool gray tabletop as they tap random beats.

"Hi. My name's Regan."

(&)

They have lunch together every Tuesday and Thursday for the remainder of the semester.

* * *

Kurt scans the cast list once, twice, three times, looking for his name hidden somewhere in the masses.

Nothing.

* * *

Kurt flashes back to that long ago Thursday in Dalton when he kissed Blaine. He remembers the breath caught in his throat, the body heat radiating from Blaine's torso, the weight of Blaine's hands on his arms. He remembers the sudden feeling of separation and how Blaine's apology had sounded in his ear.

That night, Kurt declines Justin's offer to go out on a second date.

(&)

"It didn't work out with Justin," Kurt comments in a painfully casual manner that Thursday at lunch.

He's not sure what he expects from Regan, but it's not this… silence. Curiously, he looks up from his egg noodles to find Regan's cool gaze locked on his.

When Regan finally answers, his voice is soft and almost lost amid the typical chaos of the cafeteria.

"Good."

* * *

_Please review._


	9. ix

_First of all, I am so sorry this took forever to post. I meant to update on Wednesday, but have been horribly busy these past few days. I'm hoping to get the next few chapters from my beta soon, so hopefully I can update by Sunday or so. Thank you all for sticking with me and this story despite how short these chapters are and how infrequently I update. You guys deserve cookies and love and (more! :D) hot kisses on the show!_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or anything else you may recognize._

_And a big thank you to my beta, **lextempus**!_

* * *

When mentally counting to ten no longer mollifies him, Kurt finds himself clenching his fists against his desktop and glaring up at Rachel in the confines of his cramped dorm.

"Next time you wonder why people say they want to shove a sock down your throat, I hope you remember this moment!"

Rachel pauses in her thirty-seven minute long rant about how she should have been cast as more than just an ensemble member to blink rapidly at Kurt, her doe eyes wide and downcast.

Taking advantage of her momentary silence, he arches an eyebrow and continues at a quieter tone that still carries a cold edge.

"You were a big fish in a small pond back in Lima, sweetheart. You can't expect all the leads here. And maybe next time you'll have more than just a smattering of tact to understand that perhaps it's best not to complain about your role in a musical to someone who didn't get cast."

Rachel is quiet for a long time after his speech which makes him think that maybe she does have a bit more tact than he gives her credit for.

(&)

Opening night, he's the first one to hand Rachel a bouquet of yellow roses. He's also the first one to remind her to keep up a brave face when everyone forgets her in favor of the senior girl cast in the main role.

* * *

When Regan asks him on a date, Kurt hesitates a moment before smiling gently and saying _yes_.

Regan's eyes are strikingly not hazel, but maybe Kurt could learn to love blue.

* * *

**Nature vs. Nurture:  
****or, why I was born gay but grew up to be fabulous**

The title reads back at him from where the paper lays on Professor Kantra's desk. Kurt adjusts his bangs, careful to keep the nervous twitch out of his hand when his teacher glances down at the paper.

"Good work, Mr. Hummel. You've come a long way from the student who tried to glare at me on the first day."

All nervousness aside, Kurt hums with pride.

* * *

_Please review._


	10. x

_Ugh, I'm sorry! I just got the last batch of writing back from my beta yesterday and didn't have a chance to post it until today. But! I have the chapter after this one ready to go, so I'll be posting again either tomorrow or Thursday. :) The next few chapters are longer because some pretty exciting stuff starts to happen. :D Thank you to everyone reading! I'm glad you're still enjoying it and I'm pleasantly suprised by how many people seem to like Regan. :D I may be biased, but I think Regan is a sweetheart, so I'm happy that you all seem to like him._

_I received an anonymous review that I'd like to address specifically: The reviewer complimented me and I'd like to say thank you for the lovely comments. Also, it was suggested to me that I try to keep my story under twenty chapters so as to not lose laconic nature of my writing. I appreciate the comment, but I'd just like to say now that I am not sure how long this story will be. I'm not anticipating more than twenty-five chapters or so (I've written the first sixteen thus far.), but I'm going to write as much as I feel is necessary to say everything that I and the characters need to say. Hopefully it will not seem drawn out, but I'm willing to draw out my story/plot in order to be satisfied with my ending. I just hope you all will still be along for the ride. :)_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or anything else you may recognize._

_And a big thank you to my beta, **lextempus**!_

* * *

Quinn clutches too tightly at Mercedes' hand where she laboriously streaks golden color onto fingernails. Her voice barely louder than the summer rain pattering against the window, she half-heartedly complains about school in Chicago and the mandatory anatomy classes for her nursing major. Apparently, if Sam suggestively offers one more time that he'll help her study, she'll return him to the sci-fi convention he first came from.

Kurt and Mercedes exchange knowing glances across the room as they listen to Quinn's weeks old song and dance. Their looks do not go unnoticed by Quinn who purses her pink lips momentarily before flipping her hair over her shoulder imperiously and averting the attention by asking Kurt how he's enjoying being a theatre major.

Blue and brown bore into him as the girls wait for his response, their gazes showing excitement and concern in equal measure.

Kurt finds himself half-avoiding the direct and implied questions and answers with the simple, honest truth, "I'll always love performing."

* * *

One thing Kurt is quick to realize, Regan doesn't speak in metaphors. Everything he says and everything he means are worded simply and effortlessly, like the phrases were made for Kurt to hear.

Regan's face appears on Kurt's laptop, his eyes bright with conversation as they share their summer stories. The pixels blur together as Regan's hands flutter around the sides of his face in rapid conversation, and Kurt fixates on the quick flicks of his wrist, the thick dusting of hair on his forearms. Sometimes Regan leans forward to the camera to comment on Kurt's blush and Kurt finds himself staring at the rounded edge of his shirt paired with the sharp cut of his collarbone.

Regan tells him, without reserve, that he's beautiful. He tells him he's witty and charming and sneaky and all the other adjectives Kurt's always said about himself, but they sound better from another person. Regan tells him he cares.

There's no challenge, no confusion, no translation needed. So different from –

no, he's done with that.

Kurt falls into a practiced sort of ease, catching the nuances in Regan's words and letting the simple phrases wash over him.

* * *

_Please review._


	11. xi

_Post by Thursday, post by Saturday... it's like the same thing. I wanted to avoid posting on April Fool's Day, so today it is! :D Thank you so much to everyone that reviewed. Seriously, I respond to all the reviews in pretty much one sitting and it took me about two hours. Wow. That's so great. Thank you all so much._

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, My Fair Lady, The Beatles, Baby It's Cold Outside, or anything else you may recognize._

_And a big thank you to my beta, **lextempus**!_

* * *

The clock on the bottom right corner of his computer clicks to midnight and it marks the third consecutive day that Rachel has not visited him in his dorm.

His roommate notices the small smirk on his face, something Axel has taken upon himself to call the Kurt-Smirk, and gives him a curious look.

"Rachel," Kurt answers simply with a not-so-subtle touch of smugness in his voice.

Axel rolls over on his bed so that he's lying on his stomach and laughs while raking a hand through his dyed black hair. The single word speaks volumes, especially since Axel has only known Rachel for a few weeks in the new semester.

"She's still not happy about the paper you wrote on her being a Type A personality?"

"Trust me, there are harsher things I could have called her."

Kurt loves Rachel, he really does, but this is the longest Kurt's gone in a long time without having to hear about how incarnation is real and Rachel might be Helena Modjeska reborn.

* * *

_Why can't a woman be more like a man?  
__Men are so honest, so thoroughly square,  
__Eternally honest, historic'ly fair.  
__Who, when you win, will give your back a pat?  
__Well, why can a woman be like that?_

He auditions on a whim, urged to the stage largely on Rachel's and Regan's encouragement. Barely prepared, Kurt keeps the movement to a minimum as _My Fair Lady_ has few large dance scenes, and his tongue-in-cheek humor wins him a few laughs from the directors.

By and by, it's easily one of the best auditions he's ever had.

(&)

Henry Higgins … Kurt Hummel

This time, his name is easy to find on the cast list. Maybe there is something to be said about not trying so hard.

* * *

Autumn sun trickles through the leaves above them and the dappled sunlight speckles their skin with sunshine and shadow. The chill in the air bristles against the tip of Kurt's nose and along the angle of his cheekbones, but his hand in Regan's radiates warmth.

_I need to laugh, and when the sun is out, I've got something I can laugh about. I feel good in a special way. I'm in love and it's a sunny day._

The sweet pluck of the guitar strings carries the music to Kurt who can hear the familiar lyrics before he can even see the guitarist. They turn around the bend, hands linked and shoulders brushing with smiles wide on their faces. The guitarist comes into view, sitting on a bench with a gentle smile of his own.

"This is my favorite place in Central Park," Regan shares, his voice low and reserved as though he's sharing a secret. His eyes meet Kurt's shyly and Kurt gives a breathy laugh before pecking Regan's hair fondly, the scent of Axe sharp in his nose.

Regan tugs at his hand and within moments, Kurt finds himself standing in the center of the _Imagine_ mosaic. He glances down to see his silver boots toeing against Regan's tangerine Dr. Martens, careful not to disturb the daisy petals someone had left behind.

When he looks up again, Regan's watching him through blonde eyelashes and the music seems to fade into a far away background. Regan's nose is equally chilled as it nudges against Kurt's before his lips, directly across from his own, meet Kurt in a kiss.

Kurt fists his hands in the plaid fabric of Regan's jacket and can taste the salt on Regan's lips from the pretzel he bought from the vendor on the corner. Regan's fingers trace the line of his jaw and brush his earlobes gently before they pull away with softened expressions.

The music continues around them, no hesitation in view of their affection. Kurt thinks this might be his favorite place in Central Park, too.

* * *

It's not exactly paying homage to Rex Harrison the way Kurt croons _I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face_, but the music enlivens him until his voice soars and drops with inflection and intention.

Offstage, he imagines he can see Rachel Doolittle beaming and stifling her giggles at the ironic connotation the music holds, and Kurt can barely stave off his own grin. Above the audience's gentle murmur of amusement, he thinks he can hear Regan's laughter light and clear and full of that same ironic understanding.

Not for the first time, Kurt believes he shines best when he sings.

* * *

_I really can't stay.  
__But, baby, it's cold outside._

This year when Kurt hears the song on the radio, he just smiles in fond reminiscence before joining his family once more in their exuberant conversation.

* * *

_Please review._


	12. xii

_Ugh... Can it just be summer now? I just want to be done school so I can spend my time writing fanfiction. Productive, no? lol Thank you to everyone reading and enjoying! I honestly can't thank you enough. And thanks for always coming back, no matter how long I make you guys wait for the next installments._

_Also, I've gotten a few reviews/PMs asking me about Blaine... Allow me to reiterate: Yes, Blaine will be coming back in this story. Yes, there will be Klaine. It's just building up. (I am a sucker for slow burn. Like, mega slow, as evidenced by this story.)_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, Journey, or anything else you may recognize._

_And a big thank you to my beta, **lextempus**!_

* * *

_Mr. Schue,_

_I'm sure I'm keeping you from a flashback to the eighties, so if you could please lower the volume of the Journey playing on your iPod, I think you will better appreciate the nature of my e-mail._

_I am no longer a theatre major and am now a psychology major._

_I know that sentence makes it seem as though I traded one for the other, but instead I feel as though it was more of a way for me to prioritize my life. I proved to myself last semester in _My Fair Lady_ that I am capable of becoming the star that I always thought I was destined to be. But I have also learned that being a star will benefit myself and solely myself, and I'm not sure if I want that anymore._

_There have been many people in my life who have made my life better just by talking to me and by letting me talk to them. My father, Carol, Finn, my friends, people at Dalton, and you. I want to be that person for someone else, and I think psychology can help me with that._

_I will not apologize for myself or who I am or the choices I have made, but you have always told us that we were capable of being stars. After everything you have done for me, I don't want you to feel as though I have failed you in any capacity._

_Thank you for your time, and quite honestly, thank you for Glee Club. All in all, thank you for, in a word, everything._

_-Kurt Hummel _

(&)

_Kurt,_

_I think I speak for everyone who cares about you when I say this: All I wanted for you was for you to be happy and to be safe. From the sounds of your last e-mail, you're both._

_-Mr. Schue_

* * *

Mercedes sasses that she's been waiting to visit since she saw Kurt kicking ass last semester on the stage. Kurt returns her sentiment with a kiss to her cheek, their shopping bags crunching between their bodies. She tosses him an easy smile and they fall into an old-practiced dance as they walk over the frost-covered ground. Her off-kilter swagger match to his own steps makes him smile nostalgically as Kurt thinks back on shopping trips in Lima.

They walk up to the front of his dorm, Kurt rolling his eyes half-heartedly as she complains about staying the night with Rachel.

"Both of ya'll are gay and I don't see any problem with me staying in."

"Oh please," Kurt responses with a classic roll of his eyes. "And leave Rachel to find a song about her abandonment issues?" He arches a carefully groomed eyebrow as he holds the door open for her. He leans in close as she walks by. "Over my cold, dead, McQueen-clad body."

She laughs, full and loud, the sound coaxing him into a matching amusement as they ascend the stairs. Moments pass in relative silence as they chuckle in time to their footsteps falling on the landings.

"So, Regan?" she winks, her voice suggestive and excited.

He purses his lips at her tone, but deigns to answer the least offensive of her unspoken questions.

"You'll officially meet him at dinner tonight," he informs her as they reach the second floor.

"Well, all I'm saying is that he better be worshipping the ground you walk on or else he's not good enough for you," she insists, rounding the corner to his dorm room as though she owned the building.

"No worries," he says with more assurance than he feels. "He's plenty good enough for me."

Something in his voice catches subtly, but Mercedes hears the minute change and brushes her arm against his own in gentle curiosity. He bypasses her questioning gaze as he places the bags on the floor beside him and fumbles in his pocket for his key.

"Do you love him?"

The question cuts through the air, simple and clean against the thoughts that have been occupying his mind for far too long. It's not until the key slides into the lock with a quiet _click_ that he turns away from the cool gray paint of the door to face Mercedes. Kurt feels rather than hears the softness in his voice.

"No."

He opens the door to his dorm, effectively ending the conversation. Tossing his bags on his bed, he says his hellos to Axel with forced casualness as he ignores Mercedes' eyes following his form.

Kurt doesn't lie. At least, not to her.

(&)

"I'm not ready," Kurt whispers against Regan's open mouth, their lips still brushing with his every word.

Regan remains still, his hands still pressed flat against the narrow lines of Kurt's back and his heart thrumming beneath Kurt's touch. The stillness ends as he pulls his arms out from under the thin cotton of Kurt's undershirt and places them on the hips straddled over his thighs.

Eyes shut against the racing of his own heart and the implications of his words, Kurt feels the heated warmth of Regan's lips against his forehead. A barely there _pop_ falls into white noise as Regan's kiss ends.

"Then I'm not ready either," he promises quietly.

A grateful smile decorates Kurt's flushed face as he disengages himself from Regan's lap and settles cat-like at the end of the bed, his body half covering Regan's extended legs.

Panting and licking his lips, Regan leans back on the headboard, blonde eyelashes lowered to his cheek and catching the dim golden light in the room. A sense of protection radiates from his softly panting body, and Kurt finds himself watching the smooth lines of his boyfriend as Regan calms himself.

Once satiated, Regan opens his eyes with a lazy look and quirks his small mouth in a smile that leaves Kurt breathless for an instance. He paints this image in his mind with Regan's hair falling into his bedroom eyes and the carve of his smile against the stubble on his face, with the rhythmic rise and fall of his tapered chest and short sleeves barely capping his shoulders, pale skin revealed beneath the half-moon fabric.

"What was his name?"

Kurt looks at him with unabashed confusion until the tenderly prodding look crossing Regan's face brings to mind a single someone.

"I'll bet you loved him."

Kurt doesn't say yes and he can't fully bring himself to say no. He doesn't mention Blaine's courage and his inspiration. He doesn't even mention the songs they sang or the glances they shared. He certainly won't mention the secrets they told or, more importantly, the secrets they never revealed.

Instead, he lingers on the memory of a single kiss, a simple insistence of lips pressed against soft skin with the weight of a promise and hope alight in every movement before the sudden coldness and the whisper of polite rejections.

Regan breaks Kurt's silence as he brushes his hand against Kurt's exposed cheek, the pads of his fingers bringing him back from hazy memories. When Regan speaks again, his blue eyes are dark and sweet, a mixture of calm understanding and bittersweet reminiscence.

"You don't have to say anything. You'll never forget that first person who made you feel whole."

* * *

Droplets of condensation race each other down the length of the pitcher as Kurt pours himself and Finn tall glasses of apple juice. Under the white-hot July sky, the beverage sparkles onto the patio, the rough surface further breaking up the light particles.

Without warning, Kurt flashes back to neon signs, darkened skies, and polished shoes on an equally polished floor. Remnants of _You were excellent tonight_ rumble in his ear and the breath catching in his throat pauses the slow action of bringing the glass to his lips.

The tangy sweet liquid startles him back to the present where he stands barefoot and open before his step-brother. In a sudden moment of misplaced clarity, Finn nearly understands and offers his honest, if cliché, promise.

"If he breaks your heart, I'll break his face."

_He already broke my heart_, Kurt almost says before he realizes Finn meant Regan.

(&)

Regan visits for three perfect days in the summer.

For years to come, Kurt will remember those days in a blur of sunshine and plaid, a mixture of laughter and something warm flooding his senses.

Regan leaves Thursday evening with a kiss pressed against the thrumming pulse on Kurt's neck.

Clutching honey hair threaded between his fingers, Kurt murmurs, "I always feel like I'm doing goodbyes wrong."

* * *

_Please review._


	13. xiii

_BIG NEWS: First of all, I want to apologize for how long it took to get this chapter up. I have had an intense semester at college that almost literally ate up my time. Seriously, it felt like a black hole. When I finally moved back into my house earlier today, I cried with relief. No joke. Now that college is over for the summer, I can devote more time to fanfiction. Secondly, I no longer have a beta reader. As busy as I have been, lextempus has been just as preoccupied, if not more so. I just want to say that lextempus has been an amazing beta and I am so appreciative of everything she has done._

_That being said, I am looking for a new beta. I have contacted someone in the hopes that she will be available, but if that falls through, I'm looking for anyone willing to offer their services._

_Thank you, everyone, for sticking through with me through this difficult weeks. I am more grateful than you could ever know. And again, a humongous thanks to **lextempus**._

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, Breakfast at Tiffany's, or anything else you may recognize._

_(In an effort to get this chapter to you all sooner, this is UN-BETA'D. Any and all mistakes are mine, so please let me know if anything is off-kilter.)_

* * *

Rachel tries in her own special tactless-as-ever way to be gracious when she says she'll take the smaller room as she's the only real girl in the apartment so Kurt and Axel can share the larger room.

Despite the frown tight and small on his own face, Kurt presses the palm of his hand to his father's shoulder to keep him from correcting Rachel. He watches as her fathers sigh in unison and walk into her room where she is already draping the windows with curtains made of fabric Kurt could have sworn had been outlawed after the 1970s.

They move into the kitchen area, arms laden with cardboard boxes, and begin organizing the small, cramped space. Burt hands Kurt bowls and cups as Kurt places them carefully into the battered cupboards.

"So, uh, Axel's like you?" he asks awkwardly, his raspy voice cutting through the relative silence of Rachel's far off voice and the slight clatter of plastic plates.

Kurt nearly retorts, "yes, human," but suppresses the sarcastic urge because, really, his father means well.

"Yes, he and I are both gay," he answers, his grip a little tighter around the stack of drinking glasses in his hands as he debates which shelf to rest them on.

He feels the weight of his father's hand on the crook of his bent arm and turns around to see his father looking at him with intent.

"It's not gonna be a problem, right, Kurt?"

Kurt smiles reassuringly, although he's willing to bet it looks a bit forced through the clench of his jaw.

"No problem at all."

(&)

_Oh dream-maker, you heartbreaker, wherever you're going, I'm going your way._

It's not until Audrey Hepburn explains why she never named the cat that Kurt finds himself stirring against his boyfriend's warm body.

"Have you ever fallen in love with someone just because they were gay?"

"No," Regan answers after a moment, tucking himself tighter against Kurt's side. "Have you?"

Kurt thinks for a pause, reevaluating a long ago moment on a staircase with the clarity of hindsight.

"No."

* * *

The muffled yelling from Rachel's room comes to an abrupt end, and the nearly immediate knocking on his bedroom door convinces Kurt that he will not be finishing his lab report that night.

Rachel enters with his permission, her face set and determined under his questioning glance.

"Finn and I broke up," she states bluntly. Her voice is thin and wavering, but her eyes glare at him as though waiting for him to laugh.

Instead, he sighs and rises from his desk with his arms outstretched.

It's not until she falls into his embrace that she begins to cry.

(&)

For all that Rachel waxes poetry about how lovely and beautiful it will be to spend Christmas in New York with her fathers, Kurt can see past her too-bright smile and tightened grasps on sheet music.

Kurt thinks it's a little sad and a little pathetic that she can't even be in the same state as Finn and wonders for a moment what she will do when summer vacation comes along.

Then he remembers the absence of Blaine's hand on his knee, Blaine's presence far from his at rehearsal, and a packed up suitcase in a nearly empty dorm room.

He buys her chocolates and hopes she never realizes it's an unspoken apology for unspoken thoughts.

(&)

"Call me on Christmas," Regan whispers, his lips brushing against the tip of Kurt's nose as they rest forehead to forehead. They stand together amidst the bustle of the Grand Central Station.

"Call me on New Year's," Kurt responds, his fingers pressing firmly into the soft and scratchy fabric of Regan's tartan peacoat.

"I love you."

"I know."

Regan frowns a little at the response, but hides it with a kiss to Kurt's temple. The train sounds its whistle once more, Kurt's cue to leave. He lets his fingers linger briefly on Regan's waist, a moment of guilt, before pulling away.

He boards the train and wonders faintly if he will ever feel like he's not running away.

* * *

The sun is bright and white and clear through the russet checkered curtains in the kitchen. Its gleam rebounding off the counters is softened and dulled by the thin layer of flour coating the surfaces.

Kurt hums along with the carols on the radio, his torso twisting left and right in perfect time as he presses the snowman-shaped cookie cutter into the batter laid out flat before him. Behind him, Carol bustles around with a smudge of flour dotting her nose and a streak of chocolate along the curve of her cheek.

In perfect timing between the beep of the oven and Carol's extraction of a hot sheet covered in nut rolls, Kurt slips in the next tray. He sets the timer and pulls away, a note of accomplishment marking his face.

Carol looks up from where she's checking the nut rolls to see if they burst in the heat of the oven to see his grin. She matches it with one of her own, the corners of her smile softer and gently lined with age.

Her hands are sticky and gritty with sugar as she reaches for his wrist. Kurt looks up from the roller he had been reaching for and sees the warmth in her gaze.

"We miss you when you're so far away."

(&)

Finn asks about Regan, Axel, and even Professor Kantra before Kurt finally silences his questions with a single raised eyebrow.

"As far as I can tell, everyone in my life is doing fine. Even Rachel."

Neither one of them says another word. They don't need to.

* * *

_Please review._


	14. xiv

_So this new ffdotnet format... I'm not used to it yet. Sorry if there were any issues replying to any reviews._

_A big thank you to my beta, L'esprit. Seriously, she's awesome. I owe her big time. 3_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, It's a Wonderful Life, or anything else you may recognize._

* * *

"Good evening. Thank you all for coming to The Little Red House Theatre. Please, sit back and enjoy our production of _It's a Wonderful Life_."

The last thing Kurt sees before the lights dim out to near darkness is Wes's name dark and bold within the playbill clutched tightly within his pale fingers.

Ironic title, he thinks before the curtains open.

(&)

Kurt spends the entirety of intermission checking discreetly over his shoulder for slicked back hair and a beaming smile, but no familiar face greets him in the audience. Mercedes slides back into her seat just as the lights begin to flicker on and off.

She mentions that she did not see him in the lobby and apologizes for the umpteenth time that evening for the gift. With a carefully applied mask of nonchalance, he shrugs off her comments and jokes that this is at least more memorable than the scarf she gave him last year.

Of course, she sees past his joke that passes from his too-tight lips and raises her eyebrows at him as he nervously adjusts his bangs.

"Even if you did end up seeing him tonight, what would you say to him?"

A litany of options rushes through his mind, but he settles on a single word.

"Hello."

(&)

"Kurt!"

His voice cuts clear and loud over the general cluttered noises of people exiting the theatre. The sound stops Kurt for a moment, his heart snagged on the realization that his voice still sounds exactly like the memories that once played on loop in Kurt's mind.

Turning in the direction of the noise, he feels a slight pressure on his back and then a sudden coolness on his side as an indication that Mercedes has graciously left him alone.

Kurt scans over the moving crowd, eyes catching on every dark head before finally–

there he is.

Eyes trained on each other, they each take a few steps closer until they are standing within their personal bubbles, pressed between the wall of the lobby and the slowly moving crowd exiting the building.

"Hello," Kurt breathes and he is quick to realize that it is as easy and as difficult as he always imagined this greeting to be.

Blaine stands before him, hair loose in barely tamed curls and a smile incredulous on his face. Kurt drinks in the image of the softened lines and solid color of his scarlet sweater, the spread of his hands tight against his thigh, the charcoal coat draped over the sharp angle of his arm.

He's a little taller, but then again, so is Kurt. It really shouldn't be that much of a surprise.

Blaine chatters on about the play and about college and all the broad details that have shaped his life these past few years. His life without Kurt, the message goes unsaid and understood.

And despite all this talking, all Kurt can think about is how Blaine still smells like spices and old books.

"I've missed you."

Cutting through Blaine's nervous babble, the words come out with a bit more bite than anticipated, but Kurt stands his ground and watches as the smile slips from Blaine's face. Silence falls between them for countless seconds before Blaine speaks in a tone much hoarser and tighter.

"You're the one who wrote me out of your life."

"You're the one who said no."

Blaine doesn't say another word and the downward cast of his eyes is enough of a cue for Kurt to leave.

(&)

It's after midnight when Kurt receives a call on his cell phone. Of course he doesn't recognize the number. He deleted it nearly four years ago.

"I missed you, too," Blaine whispers through the phone.

Kurt's fingers curl tighter to his palm as he registers the mixture of breathlessness and desperation clear in Blaine's hushed tone.

"Can we just start over?"

Regardless of the warning signs flaring up in his mind and the bitter sting of tears still fresh in his eyes, Kurt smiles for what feels like the first time in years.

* * *

_Finally. :)_

_Please review._


	15. xv

_Thank you to my lovely readers. Seriously, some of your most recent reviews have been mindblowing. I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate your reviews, your story alerts, everything. You guys are amazing and I am so thankful. You should all go help yourselves to some cookies._

_And a big thank you to my beta, L'esprit._

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, It's a Wonderful Life, or anything else you may recognize._

* * *

The wrapping paper discarded beside him shakes a little and Kurt shifts it aside to find his cell phone buzzing with a new text message.

_Merry Christmas, Kurt. –Blaine_

From her perch on the couch across from him, Carole spots his hesitant smile and asks if the text is from someone special.

"Yes," Kurt answers, because it's just easier to let Carole think he means Regan.

* * *

Santana helps Brittany remember the order of the numbers as they count down from ten.

"Five, three…"

"No, four comes before three."

"I thought it came after."

"ONE!" Puck screams above their slurred voices. Laughter and cries of Happy New Year fills the air around Kurt and he smiles with the kiss Mercedes places on his cheek.

"Happy New Year," he chuckles into the phone pressed tight against his ear to hear Regan giggle back his well wishes.

It's going to be a good year, Kurt hopes.

* * *

_Kurt – _

_I'm driving back to Philly on the 17th, but New York isn't too far out of my way. Unless you're a big fan of taking the train, you can always ride back with me._

_–Blaine_

_P. S. In case you can't tell, I'm determined to make this work._

(&)

Kurt deliberates over his response for three days. But in the end, the answer is easy to make.

* * *

Stretched out before them, a steadily darkening sky makes a smooth line against the highway.

Words come slowly to them and they keep their conversations casual as they avoid all the secrets they never said, carefully disguised as old phrases and rewrites of past conversations.

Everything remains polite and casual, and Kurt relaxes against the worn fabric of Blaine's front seats. He finds himself happy to hear the little details of Blaine's life and how much he has and hasn't changed in the past few years.

(&)

The horizon is no longer dusky, but a solid shade of navy with the stars hidden behind New York's smoky skies.

Blaine helps pull out the last of Kurt's bags from the trunk of his car as they stand outside his apartment complex, the lights in the window glowing bright with the promise of someone home.

Kurt extracts his keys from the bottom of his bag and holds them tight in his hand before he turns around to find Blaine staring at him, his eyes alarmingly golden even in the darkness of the night.

"Kurt," he starts, his breath icy and visible before his face, "am I the reason you went back to McKinley?"

The honest denial is quick through Kurt's lips and he stills his hands by his side where they itch to smooth away the worried lines on Blaine's face.

"No," he promises adamantly. He pauses, licking his lips against the bitter cold air around them and feels them chap almost instantly. "I just needed to be home.

The words don't come easily, but they do come sincere.

Within Kurt's grasp, the ridged edges of the keys cut into the smooth skin of his palms as Blaine nods slowly in muted understanding.

"But we couldn't still be friends?"

Kurt watches Blaine's breath disperse hazily opaque into the air, his eyes avoiding Blaine's.

"I just needed to get over you," he finally whispers.

"And did you?"

Kurt doesn't answer him. He doesn't know how.

* * *

_Please review._


	16. xvi

_Can I just say, I love you all. You guys make me so happy whenever I see a review alert or a story alert or anything at all. The idea that people are reading my work is amazing. Thank you all so much. I also want to thank **lifeisawesome**. She sent me a lovely message about how she has adopted the phrase "Thursdays and I have a history" into her every day life. That is mindblowing to me, as I've mentioned several times to her already. Thank you._

_And a big thank you to my beta, **L'esprit**!_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, A Star is Born, or anything else you may recognize._

* * *

Mercedes' voice is low and warning through Kurt's laptop, her concerned tone a sharp contrast to his excited jibber.

"How many times are you going to let this boy into your life only to kick him out again?"

It won't be like that this time, he thinks. He won't let it happen again.

* * *

The seemingly perpetual blue of Regan's eyes darkens as Kurt mentions Blaine offhandedly during dinner.

Regan half-teases, half-wonders if he has anything to worry about. Kurt waves off his concerns with an airy wave of his hand, coquettishly telling Regan he worries too much and to just relax.

His words end their conversation for much of their meal. Nearby couples and utensils clacking against plates become the symphony surrounding them.

Kurt looks up from his spaghetti when he feels the familiar weight of Regan's hand resting on his own. He glances to the overlay of fingers, Regan's nails blunter compared to Kurt's pointed tips, before looking back at Regan's small smile.

"Kurt, I love you."

Without breaking eye contact, Kurt turns his hand over to cup Regan's palm in his own, bringing their joined hands to his mouth to press a gentle kiss.

He can hear the _Why can't you ever say it back?_ disguised in Regan's quiet sigh.

* * *

"You talk about him a lot," Blaine mentions one night on the phone.

Kurt knows. Kurt also knows that in his psychology books, it's called self-preservation.

(&)

_The night is bitter, the stars have lost their glitter. The winds grow colder, suddenly you're older. And all because of the man that got away…_

The song ends and the final note dies in his throat and it's as though the entire world has shifted. Kurt is back in the auditorium, empty save for Regan who watches with a guarded expression.

"What do you think?" he asks, breathless and exhilarated.

His body tingles with charges of excited energy as Regan walks haltingly across the stage. He mews with surprise as Regan holds him tight to his chest. His mouth is insistent against Kurt's, deep and slow with intent.

Regan pulls away just enough so that his breath falls warm and sweet across the bridge of Kurt's nose, their eyes locked together.

"I think you're gonna break my heart one day."

* * *

His cell phone is cradled between his shoulder and his ear as he talks aimlessly, more concerned with refilling his printer with paper as it spits out his most recent psych paper.

"The paper isn't actually due, oh come on, for another few days, but I want to turn it in, God, I hate it when it jams, early because Professor Kantra told me specifically that she wants to read my paper, dammit I hate this thing, and I really don't want to disappoint her, I swear I just put new ink in not even a week ago."

His words carry on as he shuffles his papers, his voice softening and trailing off as he focuses on arranging everything just so. Kurt forgets he's even talking on the phone until Blaine's laughter brings him back to their conversation.

"Kurt, are you happy?" he asks, the chuckle still present in his tone.

Kurt looks at the stack of paper in his hands, the mountain of books neatly piled beside his computer, the music sheets tacked up on his bulletin board beside the pictures of himself and Mercedes, himself and his father, himself and Regan.

"Yes," he says. _Happier every day_, he doesn't say.

"Good." Blaine sounds genuinely happy for him.

Again, Kurt realizes the papers in his hand, the pictures on the wall, and the phone against his ear. _Good_, he repeats in his mind. It's such a dangerous word.

* * *

_Please review._


	17. xvii

_Please don't stop loving me after this chapter. I don't know what I would do without you guys. You are all so great._

_And a big thank you to my beta, **L'esprit**!_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, The King and I, Project Runway, Edith Piaf, or anything else you may recognize._

* * *

"Just think about it," Regan pleads before kissing Kurt good-bye and heading off to class.

(&)

Rachel bursts into the apartment all smiles and trilling cries. Kurt and Axel exchange amused glances even as she's excitedly informing them that she got the RA position she had wanted. She flits about the kitchen, chattering about positive influences and becoming part of a new college family as Axel again mentions his days-old plan to move in with his boyfriend after the summer break.

Somewhere in-between Rachel's impromptu performance of _Getting to Know You_ and the commercial break for the _Project Runway_ episode he and Axel had been watching, Kurt calls Regan.

Just moments after Regan answers with a cheerful hello, Kurt tells him that he wants to move in with him next semester, please, if the offer still stands.

Regan laughs at the mock-formality of Kurt's response and promises that of course the offer still stands.

"Oh, Kurt. You have no idea how much this means to me."

And the thing is, Kurt really doesn't know how much this means to Regan.

That might be a problem.

* * *

For the first three days of spring break, Kurt spends his time at home, cooking for his parents and lamenting the fact that his spring break doesn't overlap with anyone else's. It's not until he sees Blaine's status on Facebook (**_Blaine Anderson_**_ is finally home for spring break. Woo?) _that he thinks it might be time to see him again.

He sends a message and pretends his heart isn't racing.

(&)

When they finally fight, Kurt isn't surprised.

Kurt stands sturdy on two feet, his face burning red with anger and frustration, and Blaine mirrors his position on the opposite side of the room. The ringing in his ear drowns out _La Vie En Rose_ playing forgotten beside them and the silence below is proof that Kurt's family can hear them downstairs, but for the moment Kurt doesn't care.

"I left Dalton. I never left you," Kurt exasperates, his scarf too tight around his neck as he clenches his jaw.

"Yes, you did."

Blaine's voice is full and broken, a paradox Kurt can't understand, but it slows the rush of blood in his veins and lowers his voice almost instinctively. He sits on the edge of his bed and can feel Blaine's twisted expression following his downward arch.

"I wish I could have gone my whole life without feeling this way," he reveals, his eyes shut tight and his fingers gracing over his forehead and temple.

Blaine says nothing and Kurt thinks he might have left, the room is too stifling. But when he opens his eyes, Blaine is still there, still watching and staring.

"I needed you to come back," Kurt continues quietly, meeting Blaine's gaze with the same ferocity he'd been holding in him for too many months. "I needed this sort of closure so that I can move on."

Blaine laughs a little, and it's sad and angry and too regretful. It's everything Kurt wishes he had never felt, never understood.

"Am I just a means to an end so that you can grow up?"

Kurt doesn't know when it became a social norm to leave just when someone becomes speechless, but he's alone in the room again, Blaine's question keeping time to the beat of his heart.

_Non, je ne regrette rein.*_

* * *

In the end, it's Regan who ends the relationship.

"Tell me, Kurt, did you want to move in with me out of love or convenience?"

"Why can't it be both?"

A flash of blue, sad and honest and broken, fills Kurt's vision.

"Because you don't love me. At least, not like I love you."

Kurt denies nothing and knows this is the first and last time Regan will ever walk away from him.

The world doesn't end or crumple around his feet. Instead, it shifts itself and twists itself, creating a new paradigm for Kurt to live in. He finds himself in an alternate universe where Regan is no longer the person who ends their phones calls with "I love you" or the person to confide in or the person to press kisses to his forehead. Where Regan is simply no longer _his_. His person, his concern, his threshold, his promise, his obstacle.

Kurt relates it to something like walking with sea legs. Uncomfortable at first, but he'll find a new balance.

* * *

_*No, I don't regret a thing. (or "No, I'm not sorry for anything.")  
__  
Please review._


	18. xviii

_In a word, wow. In a phrase, I love you all. To be brief, thank you._

_And a big thank you to my beta, **L'esprit**!_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or anything else you may recognize._

* * *

Kurt comes to the decision all on his own.

His father doesn't tell him, "no one pushes the Hummels around." Mercedes doesn't roll her eyes. Rachel doesn't sing an overly-emotional and all-together strangely suited song. Finn doesn't offer any well-meaning but overall awkward advice.

Kurt doesn't hear any revealing songs on the radio or read any particular quotes in books or watch anything specific on the television.

He just comes to his own conclusion on his own terms and in his own time that he doesn't want to lose Blaine all over again.

(&)

_Blaine-_

_Meet me at the Lima Bean this Thursday at 7._

_-Kurt_

(&)

This time it's Kurt seeking out Blaine, it's Kurt calling out his name.

The bell chime has barely had a chance to fade away from the swing of the door before Kurt demands Blaine's attention.

Blaine sits across from him, eyes never leaving Kurt's, as Kurt slides a coffee over to Blaine wordlessly. The humming air conditioning and the iced coffee cups in their hands are cool relief to the heat outside. Kurt can feel the summer sun radiating from Blaine's clothes. They sip their drinks quietly, listening to the murmured conversations around them, the barista calling out orders.

Trailing the tip of his finger around the rim of his coffee cup, Kurt watches the Adam's apple of Blaine's throat bob as he swallows his drink before opening his mouth to speak

"It's funny, sometimes, how much things change." He smiles soft and sad, looking at the counter in favor of looking directly at Blaine. "I always thought that you would fall madly in love with me when we kissed and realize that we should be together forever. Then we'd go to New York together and star in all the plays and live our lives exactly as planned. But none of that happened."

Kurt's hand rises from the coffee cup to meet with his other hand, his fingers steepling in front of his mouth. Blaine is entirely motionless, waiting for Kurt to lay all the cards out on the table.

"I didn't fall for you because you were the first openly gay guy I ever met. I didn't fall for you because you helped me after everything with Karofsky. Or, well, maybe I did. Maybe that was all part of it."

He shrugs sheepishly, but when he finally meets Blaine's gaze, his expression turns serious and his voice shakes with earnest.

"But there was so much more to how I felt than just thinking of you as my mentor. I think I idolized you too much and when I was wrong, everything seemed to fall apart. But I think maybe things fall apart because they're not sturdy enough and they weren't meant to last that way. And then when you rebuild, it's stronger."

He's talking about Blaine and college and his father's health and Regan and his relationship with Finn and transferring back to McKinley. Everything. And when he smiles again, he feels so much farther than that boy on a staircase dressed up to blend in.

"Maybe, it's funnier how things don't change. Years later, and I still know your coffee order," he laughs breathily, gesturing to the forgotten cup in Blaine's grasp. "We're still at the Lima Bean, you're still sitting across from me, and I still want to be in your life."

Kurt breaks off to catch his breath, and there's a stretch of silence before Blaine says simply, in mixed parts of astonishment and delight.

"I've always wanted to be in your life."

The last vestiges of hero worship fade away as Kurt realizes that maybe Blaine needed _courage_ just as much as he always did.

* * *

_Please review._


	19. xix

_I think this might be the longest chapter... Which isn't say much, considering how short all the chapters are. lol I hope you all enjoy it! Thanks to everyone reading!_

_And a big thank you to my beta, **L'esprit**!_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or anything else you may recognize._

* * *

The summer is too hot for coffee, according to Kurt.

"Then I guess we'll just have to meet in the park," Blaine suggests.

It's different. New. But so is this, so are they. Maybe it's what they need.

(&)

They're sitting on a bench in the park, idly reading Vogue under the summer sun when Blaine speaks up suddenly.

"I'm sorry about Regan. I know I might be a little late, but I'm sorry. I know you really cared about him."

Kurt doesn't callously shrug or shake his head or ask Blaine to just forget about it. Instead, he smiles over the spread of the magazine, quiet in his gratitude.

(&)

It's raining too hard for a walk in the park, but they hesitate to postpone their day, to cancel their plans. Rationally, Kurt knows to just blame it on the weather, but it still conjures up all the never-forgotten memories of distance growing between them.

So they linger on the phone, conversation replaced with the gentle sound of their breathing. Kurt sits perched on his bed, wondering if the rain is hitting Blaine's bedroom window as hard as it's hitting his.

Then Blaine speaks and the rain no longer matters.

"Did you really think we'd never see each other again?" he asks, quiet without any reason to be.

"No," Kurt admits.

"Did you hope we never would?"

"No," Kurt promises.

* * *

They're shopping, soaking up the free air conditioning on one of the hottest days of the summer, when Mercedes folds her arms and juts out her hip. She asks, blunt as ever, what Kurt plans on doing now that he and Regan have broken up.

Kurt smirks at her candor, leafing through the clothes on the rack before him as he searches for a particular shade of blue silk. He tells her that, oh, he doesn't know, but he guesses he'll need to find someone else to live with off-campus since he'd rather not live in a dorm again, you know?

Silence follows his answer as he trails his fingers against the fabrics mindlessly and looks up at her. She meets his curious gaze with unabashed incredulity, mouth slightly parted and eyebrows raised.

"I ask about the end of your relationship with Regan and your response is about housing? Damn."

Hands suddenly full of clothes that aren't perfect but good enough, he heads to the register and ignores her pointed stare.

* * *

This summer, it's Artie who hosts most of the get-togethers. The meetings are less frequent and never quite as crowded as they were that first summer. Santana and Brittany have stayed in Chicago, Finn elected to stay in an apartment near school to be with his girlfriend for the summer, none of them have really heard from Quinn except for the occasional wall post on Facebook. But Kurt is there each time without fail, sometimes alone and sometimes with Blaine, who has been quickly and easily accepted as though he had been part of the group since its inception.

Puck, inevitably, is the one to start the bonfire and no one quite knows if it was intentional or just a random act of arson. Either way, the embers glow bright and the fire casts highlights and shadows on Sam as he strums on his guitar.

Somehow, it's sad tonight in a way that it isn't normally, and no one is much for talking. Kurt supposes that maybe it's because Rachel isn't there to sing along to Sam's song as she's too busy ignoring Finn's absence to even come to the parties anymore. Tina, ironically optimistic in her black clothing, thinks maybe it's because they're so comfortable with each other that they don't really need words. Puck, surprisingly enough, is the one to suggest that maybe they're just growing up and that's how life is.

No one says much more after that.

The heat of the fire grows a bit intense, and Kurt moves away from the spitting sparks to get a drink from a cooler against the side of the house. The familiar patter of Blaine's feet follows him until the two of them are somewhat secluded from the rest of their quiet party.

Wordlessly, Kurt hands Blaine a water bottle and the two of them sip their drinks, letting the cool air refresh them from the heat of the fire.

Tomorrow morning, Kurt will blame this conversation on the contemplative mood of the evening and how too many absences from their group have let these creeping thoughts fall into the cracks of Kurt's memory.

"I've always wondered," he starts, his voice low and unheard by everyone but Blaine, "why did you say no? The day I kissed you," – _there was light reflecting on dust particles and I could hear the murmur of people outside the door and my heart was beating like it would fly out of my chest _– "I never understood."

Kurt will readily admit that this is out of the blue, that there was nothing to provoke or warrant this conversation, but the question that he had been asking himself for years is finally out in the open. He ignores the sudden numbness in his legs and the chilled sensation settling in his stomach and radiating through his extremities in favor of watching Blaine.

Blaine looks away, as though the answer might appear in thin air or against the ivy-covered wall of Artie's house. Blaine's curls are mussed from the humidity, hair falling into his downcast eyes as he contemplates the question and Kurt thinks that maybe he looks a little beautiful.

"I just didn't know what else to do."

Blaine's words are slow and regretful, simple in their meaning, and yet Kurt suspects that it was a difficult answer to reach. Kurt knows not understanding, not being in control was always Blaine's major flaw. He just wonders if that trait still manifested in a way that would hurt him in the end.

* * *

His father drives them home from the hardware store, neither saying a word. The silence between them is filled with the thoughts of jeers and insults repeated in their heads. They both concentrate on the road before them, trying to drive out the image of glaring men and their hard, hateful stances.

Kurt sits clench-jawed in the passenger's seat, screwing the skin on his face to hold back the tears in his eyes. It's moments like this that he hates Lima, hates the small-minded people, hates that the world can't be more like New York where he can dance with boys at college or wear designer clothes without mocking laughter following his steps or kiss boys on sunny days.

Something about the tightness and white of his father's knuckles around the steering wheel makes Kurt think he's not alone in his thoughts.

Shifting once, twice in his seat, Burt coughs awkwardly before speaking.

"When you were little, you loved butterflies," he starts, his voice gruff and genuine. "You loved them until those boys at the park told you boys don't like butterflies."

Kurt remembers. He remembers crying to his mother, her shirt soft and smelling like flowers against his cheek. He remembers his father telling him it's okay, don't worry, kiddo. He remembers cruel laughter and thinking that things will be better tomorrow. He remembers that the better tomorrow never really came to Lima.

"That day changed a lot, didn't it?" Burt finishes, eyes pulling away from the road ahead of them to glance at him.

"What are you trying to say?" Kurt finally says in equal parts of curiosity and exhaustion.

"I'm saying that you should love whatever you want."

Kurt wishes the rest of the world could see that it's as simple as that.

(&)

Coming back to Lima brings back all the ugly feelings he left behind when he went to New York.

In New York, his life grows at a constant, forward pace. In Lima, it's like taking two steps forward and one step back. He'll get there eventually, it'll just take longer.

* * *

Between lazy days and starlit nights, strolling through the park and dancing idly in dewy grass, light layers and sweaty brows…

…somewhere in the midst of all that, Blaine announces that he wants to move to New York now that he's graduated from University of the Arts.

When Kurt questions him, wondering why he wanted to leave the city he always seemed to sing the praises of, Blaine answers for all the usual reasons. More opportunities for performing, more contacts, more networking, et cetera.

But he never quite catches Kurt's eye.

(&)

Between humidity and sunshine, singing soft summer songs and resting by glowing bonfires, heads barely resting together over a shared magazine and hearts racing too fast to be the "nothing" they keep pretending...

…Blaine suggests moving in together to solve their housing situation, to have someone to fall back on, to keep each other company.

Kurt laughs a little like maybe it's a joke, but Blaine is earnest and hopeful and unblinking as he stares at Kurt. The laugh breaks off breathless in his mouth and is soon replaced with "yes, of course."

(&)

Sometimes when it's late at night and all that can be heard are the sounds of a sleeping house and the cicadas outside, Kurt lays just barely awake on his bed. And that's the only time he indulges the thought that maybe he's one of the reasons Blaine wants to move to New York.

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Kurt asks, looking away from the glowing computer screen where they're looking for new apartments.

Blaine is quiet, contemplative. Kurt trains his eyes on the set of Blaine's jaw, waiting for any tension or indication that he's changed his mind.

"Do you still want too much too quickly?" he responds, eyebrows raised and voice prodding.

Kurt shakes his head and Blaine nods, like he had known the answer all along. He turns back to the computer, eyes running back and forth over the screen as he reads their options. Still watching the slated angles of Blaine's face, Kurt thinks maybe the conversation is over. He nearly starts in his seat when Blaine speaks again, voice low and apologetic.

"I'm not as concerned with knowing everything anymore."

It's like he's released a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and Kurt smiles as he realizes, _everything is going to be fine_.

* * *

At the end of August, Kurt looks back on the months before and wonders why it can't just be summer forever.

* * *

_Please review._


	20. xx

_Thank you to my beautiful readers. I love you all so much. :D_

_And a big thank you to my beta, **L'esprit**!_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, Evita, The Last Five Years, or anything else you may recognize._

* * *

What seemed cramped with Rachel and Axel seems comfortably cluttered with Blaine.

They fill in all the invisible outlines throughout the common area with a couch, a television, and a tiny kitchen table. They ask each other where to put the knicks and knacks, the pots and pans. They set up their bedrooms separately, sometimes chatting, sometimes singing along together with the music humming from Blaine's iPod.

The dishes mix together in the cabinets until Kurt can't tell with a single glance whose is whose. The picture of the Warblers goes on the end table next to the luridly blue lamp Blaine insisted on. The junk drawer immediately fills up, rubber bands and tiny tools co-mingling in the small space.

And at the end of their first weekend together in the apartment, they sit on the couch and it's as if, finally, everything in their life is put exactly where it needs to be.

* * *

Blaine sits across from him at their table as he talks to his mother on the phone, clench jawed about how yes, he is auditioning, and no, he isn't getting anything more than callbacks at the moment.

There's a tightness in his voice that Kurt hates to hear, and he finds himself reaching over the short expanse of the table. His hand finds refuge against the soft hair of Blaine's arm in that awkward space between the forearm and wrist.

Blaine's voice falters on the phone as his eyes rise to meet Kurt's. He shifts his arm beneath Kurt's hold so that their palms touch briefly before he pulls away.

Eyes still holding Kurt's gaze, he talks once more into the phone, less tense and more open as he says, "I'm still learning everything New York has to offer."

* * *

"Finn and his girlfriend broke up," Kurt mentions over his weekly coffee-and-scone date with Rachel. The words are casual, presented off-hand as though it's nothing at all. But his eyes are narrowed and focused on her expression, looking for any hint of sudden scheming.

"Oh, I hope he's okay. I'll have to send him some condolence cookies."

She's constantly surprising him.

(&)

The next time Kurt sees Rachel, she's nearly falling over herself with excitement as she tells him she got the lead in the school's production of _Evita_ and a call back for an off-Broadway performance of _The Last Five Years_.

He's proud of her.

* * *

The cranberry sauce came from a can and the stuffing came from a mix, and the turkey is actually just lunch meat on whole wheat bread. But they tried and Thanksgiving on a budget isn't supposed to look like the dinners in movies and 1950's sitcoms.

"This year, I'm thankful for you," Blaine says with a wink in his voice before taking a bite from his sandwich.

Kurt rolls his eyes with humor, but that doesn't quite negate the sudden swelling in his heart.

* * *

It's a day for telling secrets.

They pass their secrets back and forth, and it feels all too similar to those first few days of being acquaintances in the coffee shop when they sipped their drinks and first learned each other.

Blaine reveals with bright eyes and a wicked smile that he can peel a Clementine in one piece and their quiet chuckles follow quickly after before fading away contentedly. The seconds pass in careful stillness before Kurt speaks up, his voice erasing Blaine's expression.

"I cried more when my dad was in the hospital than I ever did when my mom died." He pauses. "I still feel guilty."

He side-eyes Blaine who, in the wake of Kurt's confession, remains silent. And just as Kurt wants to open his mouth to retract his secret, wondering if it was too much or too personal, Blaine starts to speak.

"I used to always see these birds in Philadelphia. I thought they were haunting me at first, but they're just typical in the area. Eventually I looked them up. Eastern Goldfinches."

His words are choppy and unrehearsed, and Kurt leans in as though on instinct.

"When I walked around the city, going to class or going to a show, I used to count how many I saw in a day. Not pigeons or sparrows, but these little yellow birds that reminded me of Pavarotti. I thought that every number counted was another memory of you that faded away. And maybe if I reached some magic number, you would cease to be a regretful memory in my life. Eventually, I realized that there would never be enough birds to completely erase you from my mind. Eventually, I realized that I never wanted to forget you at all."

And just when Blaine stops speaking, Kurt thinks he'll never breathe again.

* * *

_Please review._


	21. xxi

_I'm sorry for the amount of time it took to get this chapter posted! I've been so busy lately. I was in the hospital for a while (I'm fine now, no worries.) and then my mom surprised our family with a puppy (Awesome.), both of which are very time consuming. But I am back and ready to post more! :D Thank you to everyone sticking with this story. You all rock!_

_And a big thank you to my beta, **L'esprit**!_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, The Avett Brothers, or anything else you may recognize._

* * *

Kurt figures it's not actually possible for Rachel to sleep the entire ride back to Lima for Christmas break, but he's enjoying the comfortable silence between himself and Blaine too much to really want Rachel to wake up. Blaine's playlist emits softly from the radio, and as the song transitions to a new melody, Blaine leans forward to turn up the volume.

"I swear to God, Blaine, if you wake her up, you get to put her back to sleep," Kurt hisses at a smirking Blaine, only half-kidding with his threat.

Blaine chuckles gently, but does not turn down the music. Instead, he sings quietly, his voice blending deep with the song. Kurt rolls his eyes, not able to fully erase the smile from his face, but it's not until the music slows down and Blaine rests a hand on Kurt's arm that Kurt looks away from the long highway before him to watch Blaine.

_Then you came back from space with a brand new laugh and a different face. You took my hand and held it up and shot my arm full of love._

In retrospect, Kurt realizes this was always the main difference between himself and Blaine – Blaine was ready to defer to lyrics and novels and quotes to figure out how he felt, and Kurt was willing to create a whole new language to find the right words.

* * *

Christmas flutters by in a blur of red and gold.

Carole's asleep on the couch, Burt's hand resting on her ankles in his lap. Finn watches the old movies playing Technicolor on the television, chuckling to himself with a childish smile.

Tears nearly well up in Kurt's eyes as he stays curled in the armchair, completing the circle his family creates around him.

* * *

Kurt's getting ready for the New Year's party when Finn appears, a long shadow in his doorway.

"I talked to Rachel. We're finally, really done."

A few years ago, Kurt would have responded with a biting comment or a huffed laugh that was more sarcastic than humorous. Instead, he remains silent, carefully styling his hair as Finn stands tall and awkward.

"She said I was like a dream come true in high school," he smiles fondly, his face soft and off to the side, undoubtedly remembering duets and kisses and sweet glances between them. "I guess she just has bigger dreams now."

"Finn, she always had bigger dreams."

Kurt's afraid that if he speaks any louder, he might break Finn's heart.

But Finn surprises him with a nod, the lines in his face suddenly calm and mature. Kurt wonders all the little ways Finn has grown in just a few short years.

"What if Blaine has dreams like that?" Finn asks, hands in his pockets, a twist in his frown.

Thoughts of his latest aced paper, his psychology books, his recitals, his plans… everything races through his mind at Finn's comment. They come full force, nearly hitting him with their intensity as he realizes how much he wants for himself in life. He pulls away from the mirror, hands useless in his lap as he stares through Finn, not really seeing him.

"What if _I_ have dreams like that?" he asks the room, voicing the thought as it hits him.

Finn doesn't have an answer. Neither does Kurt.

(&)

No one can hear the dinging clock over the clatter of "Happy New Year's" spread through the room.

Tina kisses Mike, long and sweet and lovely.

Mercedes finds herself between Sam and Artie, both pressing laughing kisses to her cheeks.

Santana kisses Finn because he's next to her and that seems to be a good enough reason.

Puck pulls Rachel into a hug, swinging her around drunkenly as he lands a sloppy kiss to the corner of her giggling mouth.

Brittany kisses everyone, but ends up staying with Santana.

Kurt and Blaine pointedly don't kiss anyone at all.

* * *

_Please review._


	22. xxii

_Hello, my lovely lovely readers! I hope you all are doing well. As always, I am incrediably thankful for everyone who reads, favorites, alerts, and reviews this story. I am blown away by all of my reviews, especially. Thank you all so, so, so very much. :)_

_And a big thank you to my beta, **L'esprit**!_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee, Bye Bye Birdie, South Pacific, or anything else you may recognize._

* * *

Blaine comes home, flushed cheeks and wide eyes and good news that he has been cast in a small production of _Bye Bye Birdie_.

Kurt is jealous of Blaine's success, excited for his accomplishments, and wondering how he can feel all this at once.

Realistically, Kurt knows this is just compartmentalization and part of growing up and organizing your thoughts. But then again, Blaine has always been capable of making him feel the impossible.

* * *

Sometimes he sees Regan around campus. Sometimes they wave a little, sometimes they smile a little.

Kurt's not sure if he misses Regan or if he just misses being loved.

(&)

Axel breaks up with his boyfriend and maybe it's the end of the world for him.

It's almost midnight on a Wednesday night and there's a bottle of whiskey between them. It's not Kurt's usual taste, but Axel has always been more into the hard liquor than he has and tonight is about keeping Axel happy.

Pressed up against Axel's side with a consolatory shot shuddering in his throat, Kurt listens to his former roommate's rambles. He peppers Axel's half-laughs, half-cries with confirmations that yes, he can do better, and yes, he is a great guy.

"Anyone would be thrilled to be your boyfriend," Kurt swears, tongue thick with alcohol and arm tight around Axel's shoulders.

He can feel his friend shift beneath him and their eyes catch on each other in a haze of alcohol mixed with heightened emotions. The pull is magnetic as they move towards each other like moving through molasses, the outside world sounding as though they're underwater.

Lips sticky with medicinal whiskey, their mouths meet for a moment.

The city clock dings midnight softly in the otherwise quiet apartment, and it brings Kurt back to reality as he pulls away suddenly.

"This isn't where I'm meant to be."

The alcohol makes his mind fuzzy, and he doesn't know if he said that or thought it or sang it off-key. But it's true, and it's enough to make him leave.

* * *

Hands still stinging from the force of his exuberant clapping and ears still ringing with Bye Bye Birdie's closing number, Kurt stands in the tiny lobby of the tiny theatre, waiting for Blaine to emerge. Soon enough, Blaine appears before him, face smiling and smelling like soap and the remnants of stage make-up.

"You were brilliant," Kurt exclaims, voice high and proud.

Blaine beams like the midday sun as he pulls Kurt into a tight hug.

Kurt loves this, he loves this part of their new relationship, that he can say how he feels and Blaine doesn't walk away.

* * *

Kurt runs the highlighter over the stack of papers in his hand, noting to himself the results of his psychological study worked out in his favor. Thesis confirmed, he smiles to himself, humming with contentment.

"What?" Blaine asks from the other end of the sofa, voice colored with curiosity and fondness.

Looking back and forth between the papers in his hand and the smiling man beside him, Kurt just sighs and grins.

"I just never thought New York could get better," he states, a sum of all his feelings.

Blaine chuckles low in his throat and turns back to the television without another word, lifting his arm to the back of the couch.

His hand brushes Kurt's hair and it's easy enough to pretend it was just a mistake.

* * *

Lights shine down yellow and dazzling and beautiful as Kurt stands alone on the stage, save for the piano and pianist off to the side.

The stage lights keep him from staring out in the audience, but he knows Blaine is out there. He knows intuitively, like he knows his heart will always beat in his chest and his blood will always simmer in his veins and he will always sing. He knows that Blaine is breathing low and smiling bright, and life between them is changing.

_Love in your heart wasn't put there to stay. Love isn't love 'til you give it away._

* * *

The last week of school, the New York springtime sun streams through the windows of Professor Kantra's office.

"Well," she starts, pushing the glasses up her nose as she peers across her desk at Kurt, "I'm proud to see the progress you've made since I've met you. I'll miss you once you graduate. You've certainly proved yourself a worthy individual."

His face nearly cracks with a grin.

(&)

Despite the silly polyester mortarboard, his hair stays mostly perfect, coiffed and high and stylish.

Nothing is going to ruin his day, not when his diploma is tight in his clutch and the sunshine is bright on his smile. Carole is crying, Finn is grinning, and his father is quiet, his eyes glassy with tears he refuses to shed.

Kurt skips over to them, robe blowing out behind him as he yells with glee, "I did it!"

(&)

His hand stills over his facial lotions as a noise in the doorway stalls his packing. He looks up to find Blaine standing there, eyes dark and downcast. He looks like a movie star, Cary Grant or James Stewart, still dressed in a suit from the commencement ceremony and hair mussed up from the New York humidity and damned if it doesn't just make Kurt's heart twinge.

Neither says a word as hazel eyes dart over the half-packed suitcases.

For a moment, Kurt flashes back to his last day in Dalton, tucking towels away in his suitcase and waiting for Blaine to tell him to stay.

"I'll only be home for a little while," he promises. "I'll be back."

He shouldn't have to say it, shouldn't have to reassure Blaine, but he does. That's what they do. They leave and come back and worry in-between.

Blaine seems unmoved, falling into his role as the one left behind with such familiarity that Kurt has to look away.

"I feel like you're always leaving me to go home."

* * *

_Please review._


	23. xxiii

_So, I'm really excited for you all to read this chapter. I'm so thankful for all of your support and for everyone who reads this. Thank you so much. :D_

_And a big thank you to my beta, **L'esprit**!_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or anything else you may recognize._

* * *

"So, my buddy Ted is looking for a counselor at his office complex in Findlay. Ted's a real good guy, comes into the shop with his cars pretty often. I told him all about you and how you graduated with honors in your program, and he said if you show up to his office, he'll hire you. This could be a great start for you, Kurt."

(&)

Kurt calls Ted and it sounds more like an admission than a casual phone call. By the end of it, Kurt is fairly certain that Ted could sell ice to Eskimos because the job sounds like a brilliant idea.

He spends the next few days deliberating. Kurt knows jobs are hard to get, and Ted even talked to him about taking the job part time so he could go to grad school on the side, paid for by Ted's office.

But really, the prospect of living close to his father is what catches him. The chance of another heart attack is always on the back of Kurt's mind, and he doesn't really know what to do if he gets the call in New York that he needs to be home right away.

* * *

Everyone supports him, but no one tells him what to do. He wishes someone had the answer.

(&)

He calls Blaine last.

"Kurt, even if someone told you what to do, you wouldn't listen unless it's what you wanted. Just trust yourself that you'll make the right choice."

Blaine hangs up, but Kurt keeps the phone pressed to his ear, always waiting for more.

* * *

They aren't the same people who kissed so many years ago in an empty room, quiet to the rest of the world. They're different, both of them, so far removed from who they used to be.

Kurt wonders who he will be if he loses Blaine again.

* * *

Kurt opens each drawer methodically, savoring the nostalgic feel of the handles in his grip. He feels a sense of ritual as he rediscovers the small treasures in each one. Her favorite sweaters, her carefully bound journals, her sparkling clatter of jewelry.

With eyes shut, he lays down on his bedroom floor, the hard wood cool beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Several moments pass as he inhales and exhales, careful to keep his breath steady.

When he finally speaks, his voice mixes with her flowery scent and the Thursday morning light streaming through the window.

"I think I'm in love, Mom."

* * *

The pound of his boots against the steps matches the beating of his heart as he marches himself up to Ted's office.

He'll never really know if he's making the right choice. But then again, who does?

* * *

_Please review._


	24. xxiv

_As much as I don't like writing cliffhangers, I loved reading everyone's response after the last chapter. So, here's the next part so no more waiting!_

_Thanks for all of your reading, alerting, favoriting, reviewing, and everything. This is the second to last chapter, so things are starting to wrap up. I couldn't have gotten to this point without everyone's support. Thank you all so very very much!_

_And a big thank you to my beta, **L'esprit**!_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or anything else you may recognize._

* * *

This time he's not running away. He's running back.

* * *

He's in love with a boy. A polite boy. A beautiful boy. A boy whose favorite font is Centaur, size eleven. A boy who's allergic to nothing but ragweed. Who laughs at corny jokes and dreads Indian summers. Who hates when he thinks in clichés and prefers dark colors over lights. Who doesn't like the color pink, but owns a pink shirt anyway because that was the only one on sale when he ran into the nearest store after spilling soda on himself. Who writes his name onto car hoods after it rains. A boy who sings like gravity is the only thing anchoring him to the world.

* * *

Blaine stares at him, his thick eyebrows knit with concern and confusion in the middle of their apartment.

Kurt stands on the threshold in every conceivable way, his hand still clasped around the cool metal of the doorknob as coherent thoughts leave his mind without a passing glance. In that moment, Kurt hates the English language. P's sound like s's and x's sound like z's, and despite the thousands of English words Kurt knows, he can't think of any of the right ones to say. The seconds tick by noiselessly, the two men staring at one another until the wrong words spill from Kurt's lips.

"I missed you all the time."

And perhaps they are not the wrong words at all, if Blaine's sudden grin and sweeping strides across the room to gather Kurt in his arms are any indications.

(&)

This time when they kiss, no one leaves.

(&)

It's like the world has been set on fire, purified and blazing. They kiss with the intention of never stopping, they hold with the intention of never letting go.

Blaine pulls away only to whisper in half parts broken and awed, "I thought you would have taken the job."

Kurt groans at his words and the absence of his kiss, leaning forward to brush the thin skin of his lips against the columns of Blaine's neck.

"If this is going to work, we have to start trusting that we're not going to leave each other," he trails each word across Blaine's collarbones.

"I'm never going to leave you," Blaine breathes.

Something in his voice catches, like a note held for too long. Kurt moves to look him in the eye, their blown-out pupils meeting across the expanse of their faces.

"What makes you so sure?" Kurt wants to say it like a joke, but it comes out too quiet and sincere. His eyes sweep over Blaine's face, taking in the creases around his smile, the curve of his nose, the sheen of his forehead, the arch of his eyebrows, the length of each individual eyelash, before meeting his gaze once more.

Blaine kisses him open-eyed and glorious before answering.

"Because you look at me like I'm someone worth looking at."

And finally Kurt understands. The loneliness he thought would have disappeared when he joined Glee Club, when he found friends like him in college, when he first kissed Regan, is finally fading away.

* * *

_Please review._


	25. xxv

_I can't believe this is over. I am so honored by all the responses I've gotten: readers, favorites, alerts, and reviews. I have adored talking to all of you who have reviewed with your thoughts about this story. Thank you all for reading, for enjoying, and for supporting me throughout this whole process. As for my reviewers especially, wow. These are some of the best reviews I have ever received. Detailed, thoughtful, inquisitive, and just so lovely. I am so, so, so appreciative of all of you who took the time to write to me. Thank you!_

_And I am endlessly grateful to both of my betas, **Lextempus** and **L'esprit**! I cannot say enough good things about either of them. They have inspired me to look at my story through different eyes and to think deeper about my choices as to why I made the characters act in the way that they did. So many sections of my writing have been inspired by their contributions and support. Thank you both so much._

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or anything else you may recognize._

* * *

Kurt wakes up to the scent of fresh September air and pamphlets about apartments in Chicago lying on the table. He holds them loosely in his hand and looks up wordlessly at Blaine who stands nervous but determined.

"I know you miss your dad and you're worried about him," Blaine starts gently.

"I know I mentioned that when I was thinking about taking the job, but—"

"No, Kurt," Blaine interrupts, "let me finish." His voice quiets Kurt who sits at the table, pamphlets thick in his grasp.

"You can't leave me, you said that," Blaine continues, "but you never said _we_ couldn't leave New York. We can go to Chicago together. It's so much closer to our families and your old glee club friends."

Blaine is alive with energy, the sort of energy saved special for singing. But maybe this is a type of song, Kurt reasons. Persuasion and passion and this _is_ Blaine. This wide-eyed, sincere, dramatic boy that he fell in love with.

"Chicago is so amazing," Blaine says, striding across their tiny kitchen to hold Kurt's hand in his hot grasp. "There's a big art scene there and so much theatre. And there is so much for you there. I know you've been looking at grad schools and there are some fantastic schools in Chicago. And more community theatre, because I know you've always said you want to stay involved. There's everything for us there. We can work in the city, maybe someday live in the suburbs."

Kurt smiles like stars first appearing in the night sky, slow, but bright, like he can't believe this transformation. And maybe that is just the reaction Blaine's waiting for because he looks like he's bursting, like his skin is the only thing keeping him together.

"Maybe this all sounds too fast, but, Kurt," his voice breaks off and Kurt falls a little more in love. "I just want to be with you. We spent all those years growing apart and maybe now it's time for us to grow together."

If there are any more words, Kurt kisses them out of Blaine's mouth.

"Let's go."

* * *

They're packing up their lives when Blaine finds it.

It flutters out of the notebook before Kurt has a chance to pack it away in one of the many non-descript brown boxes surrounding them. It flips lazily in the air before settling stiffly on the ground. Blaine picks it up with deft fingers and Kurt only has to glance at the flash of color before he gasps with realization.

The courage collage.

The edges have curled slightly and the magazine letters carry all the typical signs of age, the e on the end particularly battered. Only Blaine's picture remains unblemished, still shiny and smiling in all his waxy perfection. But Kurt has long since preferred this new Blaine, curly hair and rolled up sleeves with untrained smiles and softer eyes.

Kurt's gaze rises from the page to Blaine's eyes, searching his expression as they sit in a sea of cardboard and heavy feelings. When Blaine speaks, Kurt doesn't think he's ever looked so beautiful.

"The bravest moment of my life was when I talked to you after singing _Teenage Dream_."

Clasping Blaine's hand tightly in his own, Kurt whispers that his bravest moment was cutting Blaine out of his life.

"It's a little ironic, don't you think? You needed to let me in and I needed to let you go. I couldn't love you the way I do now if I hadn't learned to love without you."

* * *

Together, they drive halfway across the country with their lives traveling behind them, packed up in boxes and sharing crowded space. The radio plays constant, a steady pulse of music an underscore to their breathing.

The trees rush past them and it seems like they might trip on the horizon, but Kurt can look at nothing but their hands twined together between them.

Briefly, their eyes meet and Kurt swears he can hear his heart sing.

"Is this what getting better feels like?"

Yes.

* * *

_Please review._


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